The Housekeeper
by warmwinternights
Summary: Alfred is rising up the business ladder at a breakneck pace, and enlists the help of a housekeeper with odd mannerisms and nothing but a backpack to call his own. Slowly, although it takes many baths and plates of fresh-baked cookies, he will learn more and more about Toris Laurinaitis... AmeLiet, HumanAU. May go up to M, but no sexual themes.
1. Prologue

Alfred was walking through his study, his mind preoccupied with running through a list of deadlines and his latest business deal, when he stepped in an empty pizza box, spun around 3 times with his arms waving wildly, wrapped the rug around his ankle, tripped and slid across the floor, and stubbed two toes on his desk. Rubbing his foot and cursing, he thought aloud to himself, "I really need to get a housekeeper."

* * *

He shuffled into the public library, hands shoved deep in his pockets, elbows pressing into his backpack to keep it steady on his back despite one broken strap. There was a thick, stained scarf wrapped around his neck almost smothering his nose, tucked tight into the top of his windbreaker. Other patrons ignored him; he might as well be just another broke college student come to the library to cram. The librarian didn't seem to appreciate his dirty boots, though, judging by the looks she was throwing his way. The entire floor by the entrance was sullied with rock salt, ground into the cracks between floorboards by hundreds of New York City patrons entering the library for a respite from the bitter cold outside. The library's heating was certainly a welcome change from the chilly February weather, but that wasn't why Toris was here.

Though the librarian's evil eyes sent shivers up his spine, Toris sucked in a deep breath and walked up to the polished information desk. She watched him approach, but didn't remove her blood-red fingers from the ancient keyboard she was in the middle of typing on.

"I…um…" Should he talk louder, or was that disrespectful? How loud was too loud in a library? She kept staring at him. "Could you…" He looked over his shoulder. No one was staring, although it felt like it.

"May I help you?" she asked, much louder than Toris had expected.

"Oh, I - can people without a library card - can they use the computers, as well?" he managed, trying to keep his voice even. She looked annoyed. Maybe she was like that with everyone.

"Guest computers are over behind the non-fiction section, near foreign language." She pointed one meticulously manicured fingernail down the rows of towering shelves.

"Thank you very much," Toris half-whispered, nodding in a way that he hoped was polite and hurrying in the direction she'd pointed. The clickity-clack of her fingernails on the old desktop computer keyboard immediately resumed behind him.

After spending a good five minutes wandering the labyrinth of stacks, he spotted a huddle of desks and computer monitors like an oasis in a desert. _Finally,_ he thought to himself, sliding into an uncomfortable wooden chair in front of one of the monitors. The plastic adjustor from the broken strap of his backpack scraped across the chair's surface, making him cringe. No one looked up to see who the cause of the commotion was, though. It almost surprised Toris that he was so invisible to others.

 _But you shouldn't be surprised. You know what he told you._

He wanted to burrow deep into his jacket, into a place where he could stop running. But he couldn't; a line was beginning for the public computers. "You have fifteen minutes," one of the librarians reminded him, gesturing to a few of the newcomers shuffling impatiently from side to side as they waited their turn. He nodded and got to work.

What sites should he even check for a job? Craigslist seemed kind of shady, but it was worth a try, at least. _You're running out of options. Shady is your best bet at this point._ He dispelled the thought, scrolling through endless pages of listings for temporary jobs. He didn't need a temporary job, he needed something consistent. Toris huffed with impatience, glancing at the time in the top corner of the screen. Eight minutes. Should he just try asking around at, like, McDonald's or something? They could always use an extra cashier. He kept scrolling. He found nothing.

A librarian tapped him on the shoulder. Toris jumped, recoiling from the point of contact. "Five minutes," he reminded him. Toris just nodded furiously, hoping he wasn't acting suspicious. _Please go away,_ he prayed to himself. The librarian just walked back over to a book cart and continued shelving classic Spanish literature. Reminding himself to take deep breaths, Toris continued looking through the listings, but all he wanted to do was get out of there and away from these people who must hate him for taking so long.

At two minutes, he was about to exit the window when he saw one that caught his eye. Housekeeper…suburbs…$15 an hour. Holy crap, $15 an hour? Good luck finding that kind of money for housekeeping anywhere else. Nervous, he checked the time. Shit. One minute left. Okay, okay…e-mail! He'd make an account and email the link to himself (and delete it all later, of course). Toris went through the account creation steps as quickly as he could, but was cut off by the librarian.

"Time's up."

"I, I'm sorry, I just need to finish this one thing…" he tried, still typing.

"There's a line. Your time is up," the librarian reiterated, growing impatient.

"I'm really, really sorry, I'm almost…almost done," he mumbled, killing time as he navigated to the new account's inbox.

"Sir. Please get off the computer now." He looked ready to use force.

"Right, right…okay, I'm done, I'm very sorry, here you go." He hit send, logged out and jumped up from the chair, smiling sheepishly at the woman waiting with her arms crossed at the front of the line. She let out a sigh and took a seat at the computer, going about her business while the librarian reminded her that she had fifteen minutes. Toris shuffled to the back of the line, but there was the ghost of a smile on his face. And a tiny flame of hope, deep inside his chest, nestled somewhere under his rib cage, thawing out his heart that had been frosted over for so long.

* * *

A mug of coffee was clutched in his fist, infused with copious amounts of cream and sugar. It was decaf, but it always made Alfred feel sophisticated and confident, and gave him the energy to push through each day of doing what he did. He kicked the traitorous pizza box into the corner and flopped down into his desk chair with a sigh of relief. The mug was placed with a thunk on the wooden desk. A drip of coffee slid down the side while Alfred opened up his browser, typing "craigslist" into the address bar. It wasn't like he'd gotten any replies since posting the ad a week ago, but, be it for better or for worse, Alfred F. Jones was a hardcore optimist.

Upon seeing the new reply notification, he decided his relentless optimism had paid off. He didn't want to admit it, but he just wasn't the orderly type. No matter how hard he tried, his house always descended into chaos within a week. This was exactly what he needed. (Frankly, he was surprised he hadn't thought of it sooner.) Now to check the guy's credentials…

Hmm. Toris Laurinaitis, 25…has experience cleaning…will accept the posted wage as more than enough payment.

Alfred rocketed back from his desk, hands raised in two triumphant fists above his head. _Yes!_ This guy sounded great. Like, he didn't know for sure that he was telling the truth in the reply, but hey, that's why interviews existed. Never mind that he was the only one who replied. He wheeled himself back over to the desk, typing excitedly.

* * *

To: tl1990

From: alfredfjones

REPLY [on 13.3.2015 at 9:36AM Toris Laurinaitis tl1990 wrote: …]

You sound like the perfect fit for the job! Is an on-site interview on Sunday at 2:00PM good for you? (My address is already posted on the ad, so :P

* * *

Wait, no, emoticons weren't professional.

* * *

good for you? (My address is already posted on the ad.)

Can't wait to see you there!

\- Alfred F. Jones, CEO AlTech Co.

* * *

He hit send before looking at the time and freaking out. Crap, crap, crap, he had to be at a meeting in 20 minutes! He jumped out of his chair, tripped on the pizza box again, and sprinted down the hall towards his bedroom, not even halfway dressed yet. The mug of lukewarm coffee was left sitting next to the computer, which let out a small _ping!_ as Toris replied with his confirmation an hour and 29 minutes later.

 **AN:**

 **So! My new AmeLiet story. I've been wanting to write this for a while, and I've got everything carefully planned out, so I'm excited to see how everyone likes it. :) This is just a prologue, of course; the chapters will get much longer.**

 **Review, let me know if you like it, if you want to read more! I know AmeLiet isn't a super popular ship, but I'm hoping to garner a fair following for this one (and maybe even convert a few. Who knows** ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) **)**


	2. Chapter 1

Toris had had to walk 3 miles from the bus route's last stop on its run to arrive at this place. He was already exhausted. He probably looked it, judging from the errant hairs framing his face. It was barely above freezing, but the long walk left Toris in danger of sweating through his only pair of halfway-decent clothes. They'd been stuffed in the bottom of his backpack for a month. He'd really tried to flatten out the wrinkles, but there wasn't much he could do in the bathroom of the 24-hour gym. At least it was the thought that counted, like they'd always insisted in elementary school. If that were actually true, someone should give him a medal. Toris was so bent on getting this job, he'd even scraped up enough money for a cheap deodorant. The _scented_ kind. This was the kind of opportunity he'd been praying for. He couldn't leave anything to chance.

He'd been nervous the entire walk over, but his hands didn't start to tremble until he was rounding the corner that led to the drive of Mr. Jones' house. He tucked the disobedient hairs behind his ears and fiddled with his coat sleeves, twisting them in and out and rolling them up and back down again. The front gate, standing ajar, came into view. He saw an intercom, but the light wasn't on. Toris tried buzzing anyway but came to the conclusion that it was off. A bit unnerved, he slid through the wrought iron gate. A little bit of rust flaked off the metal and onto his jacket when he brushed it with his arm.

Walking down the driveway, his first impression was how scrubby and unruly the hedges out front were. They could definitely have used a good trim…and probably some water…and fertilizer. Even in the winter, he could tell they needed work. The grass was beaten down and yellowed, having no one to care for it so it would survive the cold months. The gravel on the paths of the garden was patchy and spread around, pebbles spilling over into the grass. For someone with a named road leading up to their multi-acre property, this guy sure wasn't too hung up on appearances.

The estate itself finally emerged where the drive curved into a circular driveway and created a little island in the middle, a modest statue situated in a flowerless flowerbed. The house was grand, a Southern-plantation-style building, with a faint rose façade and great big white columns arranged symmetrically on either side of the grandiose double doors. White trim adorned the windows, the roof, and the wraparound porches on the ground and 1st floor. Some wicker lawn furniture sat out front on the ground floor porch, along with a matching coffee table and a lone mug with a ring of coffee around the top. The second floor balcony sported nothing but a metal fold-out chair. It looked like it couldn't have been there that long, since there was no rust of any sort. Toris couldn't help but wonder if there was a story behind it.

He resettled his backpack on his shoulder and walked up to the door, searching for a doorbell. Toris hesitated for a beat, then pressed it and stepped back, terrified. He compulsively undid his ponytail and pulled his hair back again, trying to figure out if it still looked presentable enough. There wasn't enough sunlight on the cloudy February day to show his reflection in the glass, so he couldn't tell if he was still cleaned up. Quite to the contrary, his light brown hair was shiny and squeaky clean, even though he had had to wash it with the body soap in the gym showers. Toris was still worried, though. He needed a mirror, of some sort, just to make sure -

His rapid train of thought screeched to a halt as the pounding of feet grew steadily louder for three seconds before the door swung open and someone yelled, "HEY! YOU'RE HERE!"

Toris screamed, jumping backwards. Toris's scream scared Alfred, who did the same. They stared at each other for three long, silent seconds before Alfred burst out laughing, clutching at his sides. Toris started laughing a little, but more as a nervous response than anything.

After he'd finally recovered, Alfred straightened up and stuck out his right hand. "You must be Toris Laurinaitis, right? Pleasure to meet ya," he greeted, completely butchering Toris's last name. Toris tried not to cringe, and instead shook Mr. Jones' hand and nodded.

"That would be me. I'm here for the interview for a housekeeper?" he managed. Mr. Jones was young, maybe 23 at the most. And very, very handsome. Toris wasn't _attracted_ to him, or to anyone, but he could stare at those sparkling blue eyes for hours.

He probably _had_ been staring at them for hours, or at least much longer than was appropriate. Toris snapped his gaze away, directing his gaze over Alfred's shoulder at the window instead. "So. Um."

"Right! You can just follow me this way, to the interview." Alfred waved him inside the house and started up the grandiose staircase, whose railing curved and spiraled elegantly. Tentatively, Toris stepped over the threshold. There were pizza boxes, a few bags full of paper and some stacks of sloppily folded cardboard sitting by the door, waiting for recycling, presumably. Next to them was an assortment of expensive-looking business shoes, left lying crooked and overturned on top of the doormat.

"Ah – um, excuse me?" Toris called to Alfred, who was already halfway up the staircase.

"Yeah? Is something wrong?" he asked, quizzical.

"No! No, I just…should I take off my shoes first?" Toris asked, gesturing to his own feet.

"Uh…I mean, I usually don't, but if that's, like, if you want to, that's totally cool," Alfred said. Toris looked down at Mr. Jones' feet and immediately felt like an idiot. Alfred had on a pair of foam athletic sandals with formal socks on underneath. Stupid Toris.

"I just wanted to ask, since some people have different customs, and such…" He gave up on talking and just followed Alfred up the stairs, taking careful note of his surroundings without noticing. There were mugs and Starbucks cups scattered in the most unexpected of places, a few crumpled-up napkins here and there, and stacks of papers teetering precariously behind the sofa. Mr. Jones had obviously shoved them there earlier in an attempt to make the place look more tidy, but cleanliness wasn't his strong suit. Obviously. A rifle hanging above the fireplace was the last thing he saw before he climbed so far the ceiling blocked his view.

"So, just down this way is my office, aaaand…right in here!" Alfred chattered, pushing open a stately wooden door. Inside sat a desk with a computer and a tangle of cords to go with it, power strips and miscellaneous papers creating a maze across the carpet that lay on the floor. The window on the back wall wore heavy curtains, one scrunched up to the side. Beams of sunlight streaming through the window tumbled onto the carpet and lit up the dust floating through the air. Alfred practically bounded over to the desk chair, plopping down and spinning around once before facing Toris, who stood in the doorway awkwardly. He clutched his backpack strap tight with one hand.

Alfred's expression flickered from a warm smile to confusion for a moment. "You…oh, right! A chair!" He smacked his forehead. "Silly me, one sec!" He left the room and returned a moment later with a wooden chair, which he placed down unceremoniously in front of the desk. "Sorry about that." Alfred grinned sheepishly. "Now you can sit down."

It occurred to Toris in this moment that he would have to be alone in a room with another man. Actually, he already was alone. If he screamed, no one would come. He'd come to this house surrounded by acres of property and no other human beings for miles. He'd messed up.

How could he have been so blind?

"Are you gonna sit down, or just stand there?" Alfred asked, laughing a little.

"I…sorry," Toris apologized, sitting down in the seat and avoiding looking directly into Mr. Jones eyes. He focused on his eyebrows instead, but tried to take inventory of the room from his peripheral vision. There were some heavy books sitting around, no weapons…in the event of an altercation, his backpack was probably his best bet. It was pretty heavy, it could probably knock someone out if he swung hard enough –

"So! Welcome! I'm glad to have you! And, uh, it's pretty messy, so sorry about that…it's not really something I notice, but sometimes my brother comes to visit and he always makes a big deal about it, so I guess it must be pretty messy. But that's why you're here, right? Haha." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and shuffled around a few papers. Toris tried to push his paranoid thoughts out of his mind and listen to what Mr. Jones was saying. He couldn't blow this.

"Ok, so…oh, crap. Wait here one second, I'll be right back!" Alfred jumped out of his seat again and dashed out of the room before Toris had time to react. Toris could hear him thumping around downstairs.

He reflected on what he knew. Mr. Jones was a pretty big guy, first of all. Probably pretty muscular. And probably not someone he could beat in a fight. Toris looked around the office. There was a window, but the door looked like the most effective escape route. His mind played through different scenarios despite himself, and he wanted to tear out his hair. He had no reason to believe that Mr. Jones was anything but a perfectly honorable, kind young man.

"I'm back! Sorry, I forgot all about these! Do you want a cookie? I baked 'em earlier today, and then I totally forgot about it…" He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled, holding out the plate.

Toris' stomach grumbled. It had been 26 hours since he'd eaten anything, and walking those 3 miles to the house hadn't helped things. But it wasn't polite to take food or anything else from this man unless he'd done the work to earn it. Also, the cookies might be poisoned.

 _They're not poisoned, you idiot._

"Are you sure? These look like they were a lot of work," Toris said, forcing his hands to remain in his lap instead of snatching the plate and swallowing them all in one gulp. He was _really_ hungry.

"That's why I baked them in the first place! They're good, I promise," Alfred assured him, taking one from the pile. "I might have had a few already," he admitted, laughing sheepishly.

"I…" _Come on. Be polite. If you're rude you won't get the job. They're_ not _poisoned._

"Okay. Thank you very much," Toris said as he took a cookie and bit into it. It was a little soft, a little crunchy, and it was sugary-sweet and delicious. Maybe his hunger made it taste better, but either way, he wanted more. Meanwhile, Alfred set the plate down on the desk and took another one, devouring it in two giant bites.

"Alright. First question is, like, age and name and stuff, but you already answered that in the e-mail…" Alfred said, jumping right into the interview.

"Uh, well, my name is Toris Laurinaitis and I'm 25 years old, and…"

"Oh, yeah, I wanted to ask! What kind of a name is Toris Laurinaitis? Where's that from?" Alfred asked, not unkindly. There was a light of innocent curiosity in his eyes. It made Toris want to trust him a little.

"…My name? It's Lithuanian, from my father," Toris replied.

"Woah, Lithuanian? Do you speak the language, too?" he exclaimed enthusiastically. "…The language of Lithuania is Lithuanian, right?" he added, as an afterthought.

Toris smiled a tiny bit despite himself. "Yes, I speak it, although not nearly as well as I used to. My father was from Lithuania, so he taught me the language, although I've never visited. And the language itself is indeed called Lithuanian. _Lietuvi_ _ų_ _kalba_ ," he added.

"That is so cool! I speak some Spanish, 'cause I figured I should learn it, living in the US and all, but I'm nowhere near fluent, so that's really cool," Alfred rambled.

"Oh, Spanish? Do you use it in your business at all?" asked Toris.

"Well, I mean, I travel to Cali sometimes, and in the southern parts there's a lot of immigrants from Latin America, so it's definitely useful. OK, next question," Alfred said, getting back on topic. "What kind of experience do you have cleaning?"

"Well, I used to help out my mother around the house, and I have been the homemaker whenever I've…shared a living space with someone…" Toris made himself think about things that made him happy. Pretty flowers. Sunrises. Chocolate.

"Okay, sounds good!" Alfred replied, scribbling something on the paper. "So, about salary. Is what I posted alright with you, or do you want higher pay?"

Toris' eyebrows shot up. "$15 an hour for simple housekeeping is already quite high, don't you think?"

Alfred didn't even bother to think this over. "It depends on the person. I mean, if you're paying a rent and stuff, I'd give you more…oh, that brings me to the next question! Do you want to live on site? Like, if you already have an apartment or a house or something, that's fine, but it might be a long trip each day, and it's not like I'm running short on space or anything," he said, gesturing to room around him and chuckling a little.

"I…I mean…" Toris faltered. Should he really? Wouldn't that lead to awkward questions about his current situation? What if Mr. Jones was actually an axe murderer?

"It gets pretty lonely around here. Would be nice to have some company," he continued, looking around the room and smiling a rather melancholy smile. "I used to live with my brother and my dads, and it was like something exciting was always happening. More often than not kitchen fires." He laughed. "I'm surprised I haven't burnt this place down myself by now. I'm not the greatest cook."

"But the cookies were delicious. You obviously have some skill," Toris pointed out.

"Aw, thanks! You can totally have another one – have as many as you like, actually! That's why they're here."

"That's alright. I ate before I came." _Liar_.

"So – on site, or would you rather stay at your own place? I have a bunch of guest rooms, with their own bathrooms and stuff; there's an entire wing of the house I pretty much don't use. I can show you, if you want to tour it real quick – " He started to get up from his chair.

He needed this. He needed a roof over his head. Mr. Jones was not an axe murderer. Toris forced himself to say the words, before he accepted the tour, before he had a second chance to back out. "No, that's okay. I think…I think I will live on site, if that's alright." Mr. Jones wouldn't make the offer if he weren't okay with it, right?

"Really? Cool! So then –"

The guilty side of him took over. "But, um, if I'm going to be living on site, and eating your food and using your water and electricity and things like that, then I don't need to be paid the $15 an hour."

"You - ? Oh, I mean…it's all part of the same deal. Like, you live on site, and get the $15 an hour." He smiled. "Only fair, right?"

"If I'm going to stay here, then I don't need the money. Really. I will work for room and board, or something like that."

"Dude, really, it's okay. I'm the one making the offer."

Mr. Jones seemed so _naïve_. How did he make it so far in so little time in the business world? "No, I insist. It wouldn't be right of me."

Mr. Jones frowned. "…Alright, fine. I'm still paying you $8.00 an hour, though. That's my final offer."

Toris nodded his head slowly. He could accept that. "Words cannot express my gratitude towards you and your kindness. Thank you so much."

"Hey, I should be thanking you. My house is in serious need of some TLC, I'm surprised it's made it this far. Do you have anywhere you need to be, or can I show you around?"

Toris shook his head. "No, my schedule is usually pretty empty. That would be great, thank you again." He rose to follow Mr. Jones out of the study, slinging his backpack back over his shoulder.

* * *

Alfred had a good feeling about this. A _really_ good feeling. Now you could call him silly or childish, for placing so much faith in a "good feeling", but his gut was trustworthy and had led him to many a good place.

There was just something that attracted him to Toris Laurinaitis…

No, not that kind of attraction.

Alright, so maybe _some_ of that attraction. Did Alfred swing the other way? Absolutely. 100%. If heterosexuality were milk fat, he would be grade A skim…where was he going with this?

Right. Toris, although he seemed a little, er, mysterious, was also quite an appealing choice. As well as the only choice, since no one else had applied, but that was okay. Not to mention the mystery only fueled his curiosity. He liked to get to know as many people working for him as possible, but especially with somebody living in his house with him, it seemed imperative that he learn more about Toris. On a level deeper than strictly business.

And he already knew so much! He spoke Lithuanian, he was 25 and had already been a homemaker, he liked Alfred's cookies…Alfred beamed to himself as he pushed open a door to one of the guest bathrooms. Man, they were gonna be such great friends.

"So this is another bathroom, and then down the hall is a bedroom, and then next to _that_ bedroom is a door which actually just goes to the closet. And then you've reached the end of this wing." He spread his arms in a wide arc around him. "We can head down to the first floor now. I'll show you around the kitchen, and the fridge an' stuff."

"Show me around the fridge?...How big is the fridge, exactly?" Toris asked in that timid voice of his.

"Oh - haha! It's only got like, three doors. Or like, the main one does. I have a few mini-fridges here and there, but those are mostly for sodas. Yeah, I really like food," Alfred explained. Toris seemed to nod in wonder at this as his face went slightly paler. (If that was possible. Dude didn't get much sun.)

They made their way down the main stairs again, Alfred's thumping footsteps drowning out Toris' tentative ones.

Alfred continued with his monologue. "The thing is I kinda do spend a lot of time away from home on business trips and stuff like that, but it's usually not for more than two or three days, maybe a week at most."

"Oh, alright. That's not a problem, sir. Just, are there any parts of the house that are off-limits?"

"Woah woah woah!" Alfred exclaimed. Toris jumped in surprise and let out a little " _eep!_ ". Alfred continued without noticing. "Okay, two things, dude. First of all, there's no need to call me 'sir'! You can totally just use Alfred if you want."

Toris breathed a sigh of relief. "Is Mr. Jones alright with you?"

"Well…if you insist. And second, how can you be my housekeeper if you can't explore the place? _Mi casa es tu casa._ Don't worry about it." They had been walking down a hall past the kitchen when Alfred suddenly took a turn towards another door. "Oh yeah, this is where all the cleaning supplies and stuff go. I should probably, um, buy more...but anyway, there's a washer and a dryer in here, and spare towels and stuff." He looked back at Toris. "It's kind of bare…wouldya mind looking over it and givin' me a list of things to buy? Sorry 'bout that."

"Of course not." Toris hesitated. "I mean, of course I wouldn't mind. Thank you, again."

"Dude, you've got a pretty big job ahead of you. I'll do whatever I can to help." He winked at Toris before moving on.

Now, was it a little risky to let a stranger have free reign of his house after having just met him? Yeah, probably. But again - it was that gut feeling. Alfred could tell by the way this guy acted and talked that he wasn't up to any funny business. And he also got the impression…well, he wouldn't make any assumptions.

After another half-hour or so, Alfred decided the tour had been sufficient. They were back in the main entryway, Toris still looking around with slightly wide eyes and Alfred watching him with a grin.

"So, when do you wanna get started? You can move in whenever you want, but I'm guessing you've gotta like, sort things out with the landlord or something like that? D'you have any furniture or bags you need help bringing over? There's space in the garage for another car."

Toris sucked in a breath. "Actually…I'm pretty much ready to move in. Um, if that's alright with you…" He trailed off.

"Oh…today?" Alfred gave him a look of surprise.

"…Yeah. Today, today is fine. If it's okay with you, of course. I don't want to assume anything…" He started to gesture with his hands, holding them up in front of his chest as almost a sign of surrender.

"Yeah, that's cool with me! Uh, do you need a ride to get your stuff, or?..."

Toris tugged nervously on his backpack straps. On the one hand, he could lie, but Mr. Jones would almost certainly insist on driving him, and it would seem really suspicious if he asked to be dropped off in front of a gym. Not to mention it wasn't like he could scrounge up extra _stuff_ to just bring back with him. On the other hand…if Mr. Jones found out he was homeless, he might lose this job before he even started.

It was a tough choice, but honesty seemed like something this man really valued. "This is, um…this is it. Just the backpack."

"O - oh! Okay! Then, um, make yourself at home, I guess! You remember where your room is, right?"

Toris nodded.

"Cool! Um…hey. How about you go get settled, and you meet me in the kitchen in, like, a half-hour? So that I can write down the stuff I need to go out and get."

"OK. Thank you very much." Toris half-bowed his head, to show his respect (or at least that was how he hoped it came off as), then hurried up the stairs. He could hear Alfred's footsteps fade away as he made his way across the carpets and hardwood floors to his room.

He… _oh my God_. He wasn't fired, Mr. Jones actually seemed fairly cool with his weirdness, and things were going so well, maybe it'd all be -

No. No no no. He'd almost forgot; he couldn't jinx it. No thoughts about how "good" things were. He couldn't afford even the possibility that his particular superstition was true. He couldn't let this opportunity be ripped out of his hands.

When he got to his room, he let his backpack drop to the plush, carpeted floor. First order of business - he dug through his bag until he found his watch, and squinted to see its time before remembering there were lights here. Once he'd flicked the switch, he was able to see that it was 43 minutes late - again.

The batteries were probably dying…

He set it to the same time as the digital alarm clock on the night stand, hoping it would stay accurate for at least a little longer. After strapping it to his wrist, he went about sorting out the things from his backpack on the bed's duvet in orderly lines, organized by use and size. After that, he hung up his backpack and other outfit in the closet.

And after that, he fell to the floor, sitting up with his legs crossed and his back against the bed, and cried tears of relief.

* * *

 **So! The first chapter of _The Housekeeper_. Only took me like 11 months.  
**

 **Sorry about the wait. School kept me busier than I expected, and I kind of lost my passion for writing for a while. I've been more interested in it again lately, so I'm hoping that'll stick around, because I have a _lot_ of story ideas I want to get out before I'm through. :)**

 **And don't forget to _please_ review! Especially on this chapter, I would really appreciate the feedback. Every time I get a review, it reminds me to get on with writing the next chapter, so if you really like the story, a detailed review of your suggestions, opinions, reaction, etc. would be much appreciated.**


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